


Deisre

by Lina_Love



Series: Eddsworld Bullshit [5]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom tord, Hair Pulling Kink, Hate fucking, M/M, Safe sex practice it, Sexual Tension, Sexy Times, Top Tom, fighting a lot of fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_Love/pseuds/Lina_Love
Summary: an argument turns to tord face down in tom's bedjust take it at face value
Relationships: Tom/Tord (Eddsworld)
Series: Eddsworld Bullshit [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796059
Comments: 5
Kudos: 115





	Deisre

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I spent my whole day writing this. A day well spent.
> 
> It's just another one off, but a one off with sex.

Ｄｅｓｉｒｅ ；  
ＴｏｍＴｏｒｄ

A breathy moan filled the room, the air surrounding them wet and hot. Searching lips and hands worshipped any bit of skin the two could find. Hoodies discarded in the far corner of Tom's room, the array of blue thrown off by a bright, screaming red hoodie piled above the Brit's own garment.

Neither had expected their day to go this way. It had started the same as every other day. Perhaps a bit more tension fueling the air.

Already frayed nerves led to an eruption. Of screaming matches and flying fists. It was rare a spout between them grew to be truly physical. 

Nails digging into flesh, screams growing louder. Insults spewing from different lips, harsh and aiming to cause intense psychological damage.

But the discomfort from the other two members of the house, Edd's attempts to separate them only made for a perfect storm that crashed down on the two behind the shut door of their local alcoholic.

Pale fingers dug into the back of Tom's neck, hips grinding up slightly to meet with the taller man's erogenous zone.

The low grunt he got in return made the Norwegian's lips twitch into a feral grin, pointed canines catching on his lower lip.

Nails pressed into flesh, and his knee rose up instead, backing Tom against the wall.

Both eyes, grey and inky black bore into each other. Full of hate and anger. Fueled by a growing tension that had finally bubbled over after years of being at each other's throats.

"You look good like this. Cornered and panting like a dog. It suits you, Thomas."

His accent curled around the words, thicker with the growing sense of arousal in the room.

It didn't matter that his own cheeks were flushed, anger turned to the need to release an ever growing need within himself. The need to just bend Tom over and make him take it.

The way Tom was glaring down at him, face pinched up with absolute rage made that desire grow. It was always hard to read the man with those black abysses he called eyes, but his face read clear as day.

He'd make those cheeks flush from a light dusty rose to being as red as the hoodie he wore.

Hands moved up to thread into spiked, blond locks, his own gaze sharpening just slightly, ready to form his plan of attack.

Before he could stretch up to attach his mouth to the crook of Tom's neck, strong arms -- 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘛𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 -- dug into the meatier part of Tord's arms, pulling him away from his body.

A snarl rose in the back of Tord's throat, but it froze when those deep, black hues took him in. Swallowing him whole. For a moment, his heart stuttered in his chest. Near frantic movements of silver eyes searched for a tell on Tom's face.

He couldn't find one.

Tom simply held him, mentally taking in the way shock and resignation settled on the Norksi's features, how his arms had stopped squirming in an attempt to break free and go back to his attempts to clutch power over this whole thing.

It was very Tord like, he figured. Little sparks of short lived but intense passion. Looking to cause as much damage as he could before his small stature was used against him to put that energy down, be it by force or not.

He reminded Tom of a kitten. Biting and scratching. Ears too big for it's body. What he wouldn't give to dishevel that God awful hair style.

It only took a few moments of Tom's silence for Tord to be wrenched from his thoughts by the very object of very new found desires.

The red clad male was starting to twist and turn again, trying to get free, and without a doubt, trying to regain his composure.

His grip tightened until he saw Tord's face scrunch up, and just before he knew the other would let out a complaint about how it was starting to hurt, his hands moved down to grip against his hips instead. Fingers digging into the bony structure before he gracelessly lifted the smaller man and tossed him onto his bed.

It was unmade, checked and blue sheets strewn about carelessly. How did it manage to look neater when all his focus was zeroed in on the man beneath him?

Tom moved forward quickly when Tord moved to push himself up, hands pushing his shoulders down, straddling himself over the Norwegian's waist.

". . . I know you think you know how this going to go. You're wrong."

Chapped lips parted in complaint, but a hand clamped over his mouth silenced it in Tord's throat.

"I'm not letting you shove your dick in me. It'll only give you a bigger head. Do you want to tap out?"

Tord's eyes shifted to a dangerous slit, accepting the challenge offered to him, and it was all the confirmation he needed.

He shifted up, grimacing slightly at the fact that a too wet and too pink tongue had slobbered against his hand as he moved away.

Brat.

"I'll get you for that."

"I don't believe you."

The corner of Tom's lips twitched up at the response, large hands running up beneath a blood red hoodie, caressing the flesh he found there. Taking note of the way sharp hip bones jutted out, the small pudge that settled from too many nights of takeaway.

Up his sides, watching closely to the way Tord's face screwed up as he passed over what must have been a ticklish spot from the way his nose twitched.

Good to remember for later.

As he moved farther up, he rode the hoodie up with his hands. A small tap urged Tord to lift his head so the garment could be tugged off and thrown to the side.

He wasted no time in shedding his own hoodie, tossing it to rest beside Tord's.

There was no reason to take their time here. They were both acting purely out of carnal desire.

Once more, right before Tord's lips were to part in a complaint or demand of something or other, Tom silenced him.

Lips bruising as they connected with Tord's, keeping the kiss alive as he repositioned Tord beneath him. Head against his pillows, body laid out beneath him.

Teeth and tongues danced beautifully, neither willing to be the first one to break it. Bites and bones clacking together and only fueling the fire that had been set between them.

Tom forfeited first, a string of spit debauching the both of them, keeping their mouths connected as two chests heaved to even out their breathing.

Tord had momentarily gotten what he wanted, he supposed.

Tom's cheeks were flushed a red that he was sure matched his own. Lips swollen, eyes covered in a hazy shadow.

Tord knew he looked the same, maybe even worse.

Tord's body had never felt this hot in his life. Even ill with a fever. He was lit with a fire burning him from the inside out, and he knew in a few hours, he'd be repulsed to know this deep desire was caused by Tom, but right now, all he could think to do was lower his hands.

Pale fingers fumbled with the zipper of a dark pair of jeans, a small Norwegian curse falling from his lips when flustered nerves and the blood pooling to his dick made the act increasingly difficult.

His face pinched up in anger when Tom gave a low laugh at his struggle.

"Shove it! If it's so funny, we can end this now!"

Words were spat out with a harsh seriousness.

Then shadowed by another smug, deep laugh as Tom gently moved Tord's hands away to do the job himself.

Unzipping pants and tugging them down, fingers traveling down the pale expanse of legs much shorter than his own.

Observing the flesh laid out beneath him like a feast. He'd never looked at Tord too closely before, never had a reason to, but despite ever changing anger and hatred, he had to admit that he wasn't bad looking.

Far from it.

Chest toned just enough to create the illusion of lines and muscle. Collar bones jutting out to match the sharpness of his hips. Soft and light freckles scattered about randomly. So light they'd be easy to miss in any other scenario.

A peach colored beauty mark on his shoulder.

Dozens of small scars caused by carelessness in his younger years.

Not to mention the sizable bulge that was very quickly filling out in a pair of grey boxers.

"Hey. Jehovah's. Piss or get off the pot. I'm not getting any younger."

Admittedly, he was taking his time in looking his irritating roommate over, so the outburst shouldn't have been unexpected.

"Fine."

A hand came down to grip Tord through his boxers, earning a sharp gasp. The lack of any real stimulation throwing Tord's mind into hyperdrive for half a moment.

That moment was all Tom needed to reach into a forgotten drawer. His hand felt over the contents. Condoms in their foils, probably all way past expired. A few stray papers with fake phone numbers girls had given him over the years. And --

Ah. Lube.

And one of those condoms. Stay Safe.

The Brit continued to gently massage Tord through his boxers, watching intently to his reactions. The way the flush deepened and spread down Tord's chest. How he ground up into the pressure of his hand, eyes slowly falling shut as he unabashedly chased after his own pressure.

He was nothing if not determined, trying to get off to such little attention. It seems he was getting there regardless, if the growing wet spot beneath his hand was any indication. 

His other hand came down to unzip his own pants, giving Tord a few more seconds of contact, pulling his hand away at a pitchy sound that he was sure Tord had made unknowingly.

The irritated groan, however, was very much on purpose.

"Are you serious? I was going to --"

"Yeah. I know. Which is why I stopped. Did you forget I was here?"

The mocking question only made Tord's eyes narrow up at the man, earning a shit eating grin from Tom as he fully removed his own jeans.

Idly, Tord eyed the condom and bottle set on the bed beside him, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Nerves dulling some of his pleasure. It showed, his body tense and losing some of the delicious rosy coloring that coated him.

Tom watched where his eyes landed, and despite the flurry of fast paced passion this evening had turned into, his thoughts finally caught up with his body.

"Are you okay--"

"Don't patronize me, Thomas."

The quip was as sharp as anything else that ever dripped from Tord's lips.

"Alright, asshole. I was just asking because if you've never fucking done this before--"

"Hey! I've had sex before! I just--"

Understanding settled on Tom's features, before that smug look returned. The one that made Tord want to end this all just so he could choke the man out.

But currently? The throbbing in his boxers was more pressing than putting Tom in his place. That could come later. After he had the lay of his life.

"I'm going to, uh--"

Tord gave a thoroughly annoyed roll of his eyes, sliding his boxers down for Tom, even taking the liberty to turn over, back bowing in what would be submissive for any other person.

Tom was actually a little impressed with how put together the man managed to look even like this.

Of course the bastard wouldn't give him the satisfaction of personally bending him over. To not give him the satisfaction of having full control.

Wasn't that just like Tord?

"Fine. Then I'll stop being nice about it."

"Nice? Is that what you call this, you fuckin-- ah...hah."

That thick accent slowly fell into a soft gasp as a lubed finger pressed into him.

It wasn't a new sensation. 

He'd experimented with this before. Purely out of curiosity from the vast amounts of lewd content he ingested.

It had never felt particularly good, and this didn't either. Foreign and odd, almost medical.

A finger probing too gently. He couldn't see Tom's face, but he could feel the uncertainty in his movements alone.

"You're not going to break me."

That seemed to clear up any hesitance, because Tom's finger was moving with more vigor. Circling and working on stretching the muscle.

It still felt weird, but when a second finger was added, it felt even weirder. Uncomfortable, almost enough for him to raise a hand and call this whole thing off no matter the embarrassment he might face because of it.

That thought vanished when those fingers, longer than his own, reached deeper, probing like Tom was searching for something even he didn't know he was looking for.

Both inexperienced and uneducated, but when calloused fingertips brushed against a spot within him, Tord's entire body tensed, and a shaky breath came from his lips.

"Oh."

The only response he got from Tom, before those fingers focused on the spot.

It was like being electrocuted, but in very good and nearly addicting way.

The small pants from Tord were becoming more frequent as the soft spikes of pleasure built up within him. He barely noticed that Tom had still been working him open, and only came to remember when a third finger was added to the mix.

Tord's chest seized up, breath catching in his throat.

A moment of complete silence.

Tom broke it with a soft, "Are you good?"

His response was a tense nod, but he only started to move his hand again when Tord had started breathing once more.

It went on like this for several minutes. Rubbing and thrusting and spreading with talented fingers. Be it strumming a bass or any number of things, he knew how to move his hands.

And the effects of it were shown in the breathy pants from the man below him. Muffled by a bitten lip. The only saving grace for the Norwegian was that Tom couldn't see the red covering his face. His eyes clenched shut.

Sweat forming and causing stray baby hairs to stick to his forehead and neck.

Tom only removed his hand when Tord started to rock back against him, then forward again to grind his dick into the sheets.

Another betrayed groan followed by a few more desperate grinds into his bed made Tom feel powerful when he removed his hand, no matter how false it was.

"Relax, you big baby."

The jest came as Tom removed his own boxers to slip the condom over the length of his dick. Ignored but standing proud and just a little longer than Tord's own.

It hung between the Norwegian's legs, red and hard and dripping. Desperate for a release that had already been denied twice.

"You're still okay with this, right?"

"Stop fucking talking and just--"

That was the final straw. One hand gripped Tord's hip roughly and the other guided him into Tord.

Irritation was the key component with how harsh and unforgiving he was, pulling Tord flush against him, sliding in completely.

Tom's small sigh of pleasure was drowned out by the long, pitched groan he drew from Tord.

Tom stilled for a moment, fingers trailing over Tord's side, lingering on that one spot that made Tord jerk away.

It earned another laugh, but to avoid being snapped at again, he began to rock his hips.

Slowly at first, listening and watching Tord's body. As tenseness and hisses changed to low groans and hitches in breath, he began to move with more purpose.

His arm coming down to hook around Tord's waist to pull him closer against him, deepening and angling each thrust in a new way, each one earning a new sound and whine from the man below him.

And the angles stopped shifting when a thrust hit home, and Tord's entire body tensed and a raw moan dripped from his lips.

Bingo.

"Relax. Stop trying to stay collected. Just fucking -- 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵."

He emphasized his words with another harsh thrust of his hips, and a whimper from Tord fell into another moan. 

Tord's body moved with each brutal slam into him, pleasure mixing together with a dull lingering pain. His head lulled back, and Tom could finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 see his face.

Dark red, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth parted in a small 'O' shape, sharpened canines on full display.

Each rock of his hips seemed to take the man deeper and deeper, sounds spilling more freely and consistently.

Lewd noises, choked groans and whines.

Hips switching between grinding against Tom and rocking forward in search for friction.

Soon enough. Tom wasn't going to pass of the fantasy of fucking up those ginger locks.

His free hand came up to tangle into meticulously styled hair, gripping a fistful of it as he slammed into Tord once more.

And he was not disappointed with the loudest groan he'd received yet, pitched and strung out. 

Tom tested a theory and tugged on his hair once more. Same response.

He'd also have to remember that for later, but now? In this moment? Tord's heat surrounding him, the raunchy sounds spewing from the Norwegian, the satisfaction of finally seeing this put together man laid out like this…

It was becoming too much.

His own orgasm was coming fast, so he brought his hand down (and yes, Tord's hair was finally fucked up! Mission successful. ) to wrap his fist around Tord's dick.

It seemed they both had the same idea, because Tord was working quite hard in alternating movements to get stimulation on both ends, and Tom's thrusts were becoming faster and more erratic.

Tord reached his peak first, body tensing and back arching beautifully. White painted Tom's fist, but he continued to pump Tord through his orgasm, even when the body beneath his was starting to jerk away from the stimulation.

He only stopped when he came himself, movements halting with a sharp grunt.

They sat there like that for a few seconds, Tord slack in his grip, chest heaving dramatically.

Slowly, Tom made the first move and pulled out. Slipping off his condom and tying it, tossing it into the trash bin beside his bed.

It seemed Tord had decided to be completely useless once again, fucked out and curling himself into Tom's sheets.

Asshole. He still had the nerve to look smug again, with ruined hair and a limp dick.

Still…

A soft grumble as the witness moved, picking up one of his dirty shirts to wipe away any mess on Tord and his sheets. They'd need a better cleaning later, but it was fine for now. He tugged on his boxers, tossing Tord his own pair.

The foreigner lazy as he tugged them back on, resting snuggly on bruising hips.

He looked damn comfortable there.

Whatever. Tom was too tired to argue over this, so he simply climbed into his bed, eyes falling shut, arm resting over his face.

The warmth that moved to his side was unexpected, but in the moment, not unwelcome.

"Hey?"

God, he forgot how obnoxious Tord's voice was when he wasn't moaning.

"What?"

". . . Does this mean you're not still mad about me eating all your cereal?"

And just like that, an enraged Tom was screaming Tord out of his room, throwing a red hoodie at the retreating figure, slamming his door shut firmly behind him.

All the while, finding himself hoping for another argument very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos , comments , and constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated !!! 🥺👉👈


End file.
